The Costly Coffee Conspiracy
by Hot Monkey Brain
Summary: It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you. Slash. Crack not Creek! Complete!
1. Coffee Shop Mofo

**Author Note: **This is my new chapter fic, although it's a short one, it will probably be about five chapters. I'm nervous about it for three reasons; one, it's got Craig and Tweek as the main characters and yet is not Creek (well, not really). Two, it has crack pairings – I'm in a serious crack mood right now, so sue me. Three, I'm always nervous about posting anything.

I'm not sure what the hell genre this is. It's not really funny, not really romance, not really action, but it has some of all of those things. Don't forget to review and let me know if you liked, or if I made any stupid glaring mistakes that need rectifying.

**Warnings: **Much slash. Bizarre pairings. Potentially embarrassing and strange situations. Wars, death, famine, pestilence and probably at least one explosion.

**Disclaimer: **Characters aren't mine, town isn't mine.

**&*&*&*&**

It's nearly the end of my shift and the shop is quiet. Craig is here of course, he always is at this time. He's got nothing else to do and he and I are good friends. When I'm busy, he sits at the counter with his headphones in, reading a magazine. When it's quiet, like now, he risks taking out the headphones and holding a conversation. I know which words to avoid around him, which is always appreciated. Aside from Craig, Stan Marsh is sitting in the corner of the room, crazily texting between sips of his cappuccino. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it's Kyle getting his attention, judging by the occasional snickers.

Craig's as quiet as ever, listening to me talk in hushed tones. There's some things you shouldn't get over heard saying. It's okay, I can trust Craig, but Stan? He might be working for the Government and collecting information on me. It'd explain why he's always in here for his fix, instead of going to Costly Coffee like everyone else does.

"It's true man," I hiss to Craig, who's looking amused. He thinks I'm paranoid. Well, a wise man once said that perfect paranoia is perfect awareness. I know what's going on. There's patterns, if you look hard enough. "They're putting something in the mix over at Costly Coffee, swear to God! They're brainwashing people! They put something in the coffee that makes people really suggestible and then they – _suggest_ things to them!"

"Like what?" asks Craig, one hand toying with the headphones that are a constant part of him. I know without having to check that he has a stash of batteries in his pocket or his bag. "Huh, I could think of a few things to suggest to the people of this town. Like, they all jumped off a cliff."

I stare at him in horror. "Don't _say_ that! What if _gnk_ they really did it one day?"

"No great loss." Craig picks up his coffee and swishes the remnants around in the bottom of the cardboard cup. "So, what are these suggestions? Take out a second mortgage and buy another cup of coffee?"

"Among other things," I say, glancing toward the window. Opposite the shop I work in is the imposing neon flashes from the local Costly Coffee, 24 hours of pure caffeinated joy. At least, that's what they want you to think. I lower my voice even further and lean across the counter, closer to Craig. "They're in league with the Government. That's how they get the voters. They brainwash people with their evil coffee!"

"Uh-huh." Craig clearly doesn't believe me, but decides to humour me anyway. Sometimes it annoys me, but today it's cool. It gives me the chance to talk him around. "So, what do they put in the coffee?"

"Sh..." I choke off the word quickly, noting Craig's blackly grateful look. "I dunno! Something!"

"Right. And how do they make these _suggestions_?"

"They've got those big TVs on all the time and the music – it's all subliminal. You're _ears_ don't hear the message, but your _brain_ does!"

"Right." Craig swigs the last of his coffee and checks the clock. I know it's fifteen minutes until midnight, when I close up and clean up. It's been quiet and there's not much to do, but Craig usually sticks around and drives me home. He tries to do that every time I have the late shift, doesn't always manage it but the trying means a lot to me. He looks out for me, tries to make sure I don't get too caught up in imagining the worst. In return, I'm one of the few people he can actually have a conversation with, knowing his little – problem.

"You want another coffee?" I ask him. I usually sneak him a couple of freebies when he's waiting to take me home, although I can't make too many because the coffee shop I work in is kinda small and struggling against the conglomerate that is Costly Coffee. That shop arrived in town about five years ago, swallowed Harbucks whole without pausing to belch and went about stamping out the competition. My boss is barely hanging on and I don't wanna cut too far into the profits. Then I could lose my job and maybe my boss would go bankrupt and I'd have to go on welfare and he'll lose his house and his wife will leave him and his kids will all be drug addicts and he'll hang himself in the park and it'll all be my fault. I can't take that kind of pressure, so I try to go easy on the expenses.

"Small one," he replies, knowing my worries about sending the shop bankrupt. I make it quickly, glancing over at Stan and catching his eye, motioning to the clock. Stan nods, turning back to his phone. If he sticks to his usual routine, he'll have a take out about two minutes before I close, then take off. He claims it's easier to do his studying here, away from any distractions, so he usually stays until closing a couple of nights a week. He's one of the regulars. We don't really get anyone in here who isn't.

I hand the coffee over to Craig, who grabs two sugar sachets from the dispenser and rips them open, pouring them both in. "Have you even tried Costly's coffee?"

Emphatically, I shake my head. "Hell no! What if they get me too?"

"Then how do you know there's something in the drink?" He looks up at me, smirking a little. "You should go over after your shift and buy a cup."

"GAH!"

My shriek attracts Stan's attention, but doesn't really surprise him, just makes him look over, then turn back to gathering his stuff into his backpack. I turn my attention back to Craig, who hasn't reacted at all, my voice coming out in a vaguely hysterical hiss. "Are you _crazy_? I mean, _gnk_! I don't wanna be brainwashed man! _Shit_!"

As soon as the last word leaves my mouth, I realise my mistake. Craig's eyes take on a vaguely predatory glance and he leans imperceptibly forward, mouth curving into a smile. I screw my face up, not daring to look at him. "Peru! Peru!"

Craig sits back in his chair, blinking. I manage a nervous smile. "Sorry."

He waves a hand dismissively, but he doesn't meet my eyes and there's a faint red tinge in his face. "S'okay. Happens."

Well, at least it got the subject away from buying at Costly's.

I look up at Stan, who's heading toward the counter with his wallet in hand. I never know if I can turn off the machine or not until the last minute thanks to that asshole and his unpredictable habits. At least it's a distraction.

"Cappuccino to go?"

"Yeah, please Tweek." Stan stands next to Craig and counts out his money, the pair making small talk together while I prepare the drink. Stan's awkward, the way most people are when they talk to Craig, monitoring every word before releasing it into the air. He understands, I guess, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't make it any easier for him to deal with.

Putting the cup in front of Stan, I snag his money and put it into the till, one eye on the door. Closing time is the best time for armed robbers to strike. Most of the customers gone, the days takings still on the premises, usually only one or two staff members to deal with. There's a baseball bat behind the counter and the guy who thinks the boss is bluffing about using it is likely to get a fuck of a nasty surprise, but I'd probably just curl up in a corner and scream.

Stan picks up the cup and fumbles it, dropping it to the floor. The lid pops off and brown liquid spills across the floor. I sigh. Great. Something else for me to do before I can finally get home. Stan is clearly about as happy with the situation as I am, because he immediately forgets whose company he's in. "Fucking _shitballs_!"

A moment later, Craig tackles him into the wall and shoves his tongue down Stan's throat.

"GAH!" I scream. Shit, I don't _need_ this, I _hate_ when this happens, it's too much pressure and one day Craig's gonna get kicked right in the nuts or something. "PERU! Peru, Craig! Think of Peru!"

Stan's trapped against the wall by Craig's body and although Stan could probably shove him off without too much problem, Craig took him by surprise and the wires in his brain haven't started working again yet. Craig hasn't heard me either, slightly more interested in Stan's mouth than anything I have to say. I can see Craig's tongue snaking out to do a quick investigation of Stan's lips and I pause for a split-second, because seriously, it's kinda hot. GAH! No no no, bad thought, _very bad thought_. I have to _do_ something or Stan will come around and punch Craig right in the nose and then fragments of bone will jam into his brain and kill him and it'll be ALL MY FAULT.

"Peru! Guinea pigs! Naked Cartman!"

Craig's eyes fly open and he shoves himself backwards quickly, breaking contact with Stan and looking mildly horrified. "Dammit Tweek, did you have to go there?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

I force myself to shut up, because the situation is already awkward enough. Craig's looking sideways at Stan, who's staring at his feet. The coffee spreads across the floor, unspoken testament to what just happened. Like a bloodstain, it gives evidence all its own.

"Um..." Craig rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "Stan, I..."

"S'okay," mumbles Stan, even though he's clearly freaked out. "I should have remembered."

"I'll _gnk_ get you another _ack_ coffee," I say, trying to diffuse the tension.

"It's okay, don't worry about it," says Stan. Paralysis broken, he's already heading for the door. "See you guys later."

The bell rings as the door flies open and then Stan is gone. I see him through the window, hurrying, not quite running but close.

Craig flips the door off half-heartedly and sinks back into his seat, rubbing his forehead. I feel like I should say something but honestly, I've said it all before and I want to lock up before the armed robbers get here and bust in, so I grab the keys and shut up shop, leaving Craig to brood for a while. Sometimes, there's nothing that can be said anyway.

The mop is behind the counter and I quickly get rid of that accusing spill, then busy myself wiping down tables and putting money in the safe. Normal things, boring things, things that take my mind off the weirdness.

By the time I'm done, Craig seems to have come around a bit. His eyes are open and although he still looks downcast, he's lost the look of despair. At least, he has on the outside. I really don't want to have this conversation with him, it's difficult for both of us, but he's one of the few friends I have and I owe him.

"Is it getting worse?"

He looks at me and gives a small smile that's totally devoid of humour. "It's not getting any better Tweekers."

"Oh."

Well, what else is there to say? I sometimes think my twitches are unbearable, but Craig has it worse. There were some signs when he was a kid, but as soon as he hit puberty, he gained uncontrollable narratophilia. He's uh, y'know. Turned on by swearing. Which is fine, lots of people like talking dirty I hear. The problem Craig has is with the _uncontrollable_ part. He hears someone swear and he has to fight the urge to pounce on them. And sometimes he loses the fight.

It's tough in school, that's for sure. Mostly thanks to Cartman, surprise surprise. As soon as he discovered Craig's twitch, he began cursing up a blue streak and then calling Craig every name under the sun when he couldn't stop himself making advances. The worst part was that Craig was ashamed as hell of what he was doing, but he couldn't stop himself. I spent plenty of time standing in the bathroom while Craig vomited and tried not to cry after one of those incidents, not knowing what the hell to say.

It was Token who came up with a way to counter that though; as soon as Cartman began with his cursing streak, one of us would join in and Craig would jump on us instead. Oftentimes it caused us some problems but hell, Craig's a friend and no one wanted to see fatass get one-up on him. And y'know? Weirdly, it made me and Craig and Token and Clyde more popular with the girls. Seems that they actually like seeing guys make out in the hallways. It didn't make much difference to me, but Token and Clyde were pleased and Cartman was super-pissed.

Hence the headphones. If he can't hear, then he can't act. So half the time, he's not listening to a word anyone else is saying. It's only when he's around me or our friends that he takes the damn things off and indulges in conversation, while we try to remember not to swear and what to say if we slip up.

"It's fine Tweek," he says, getting to his feet. "You done here?"

"Yeah," I reply, wishing Token was here. Token always knows how to put things into perspective, while I just stammer and don't know what to say. Huh, wish in one hand, shit in the other and see which fills up first.

We leave and Craig hangs around while I lock the door behind me. His presence makes me feel slightly safer. Sometimes, robbers strike when the guy's locking up for the night, wait until he's distracted, knock him out and steal his keys. Not so much any more, thanks to burglar alarms, but it still happens. I've got a remote for the shutters and I wait until they're all the way down before joining Craig. His car is parked at the side, which is supposed to be staff only but my boss said he doesn't mind. But instead of heading in that direction, Craig starts walking across the street. There's only one store still open and that doing a brisk trade – Costly Coffee.

"Craig!" I grab his arm and try to drag him back to the car. "Where are you going?"

He glances at me. "I thought we were going to buy a coffee and check out how the mindbending thing works."

"GAH! No way! We can't! What if they brainwash us and we end up running for congress and then all the staff give us blowjobs and the press find out and we get assassinated?"

"How likely is that?"

"That's how they got Kennedy!"

I'm not sure I'm gonna have the choice though. Craig's got that look in his eye, the one he gets when he's determined to do something and after the events a few minutes ago, he could probably do with something to take his mind off things.

Well, shit.

Before we walk into Costly, Craig grabs his headphones and gives me an apologetic look as he puts them on and cranks up the music. Dammit. There's people around and it's more embarrassing when he jumps a stranger and you have to explain to them why he's trying to molest them, just because they said shit. That leaves me to do the talking. Oh hell, I don't wanna do the talking! What if I suddenly blurt out what I know about their plans and they take me into the back room and torture me?

But Craig's already walking through the doors, holding it open for me with an impatient look. I follow him reluctantly and check out my surroundings.

Costly Coffee is clearly a place where the in crowd go. There are flat screen TVs all over the walls, displaying pretty flashing lights that move in time to the music in the background. It sounds like the top 40, but I know better. It's the subliminal messaging at work. Oh God, help me, what if I'm already suggestible and I don't even need the coffee and I'm already brainwashed?

Sometimes, I think that Craig can read my mind, because he's giving me an impatient look and steering me toward the counter. Oh no, what if he really _can_ read my mind? That would suck. He could find out all my secrets, then put them on the school internet site and I'd be tormented forever and I'd have to leave school and live in the forest and eat raw possum and grow a beard. Shit, I can't grow a beard, I barely need to shave even now and it's way too much _pressure_ to grow a beard!

"Can I help you?" The guy behind the counter addresses me and I jump, giving a quiet scream.

The counter guy doesn't even blink, just keeps that wide grin on his face. Shit, he's like a pod person. Oh God, what if he's a pod person?

"Can I help you?" Damn, he's running on automatic. I get the feeling I could stand here mute all night and he'd just repeat the same sentence over and over again. A part of me wants to test the theory, but I'm too creeped out.

"Two house specials please," I mutter.

The coffees arrive and I pay for them, wanting nothing more than to take them out to the car and get the hell out of here, but Craig grabs his drink and sits at a table. He's got the car keys, I have no choice but to sit and wait for him.

We can't even talk, because he's wearing those damned headphones. All I can do is check out the people sitting around the tables. A few of them I recognise from around town, all with huge cups in front of them and a vacant look in their eyes. Am I really the only person who can see what's going on here?

I examine my drink dubiously. The board says that this is their 'special recipe' brew and I'm curious as to what it contains exactly. It's no secret that I'm knowledgeable about coffee – I've been addicted to the stuff ever since I was about six. There's no real upside to that. I'm permanently on edge thanks to the ADD anyway and my friends think that the coffee isn't helping me much, although I'm not sure how the two things are related. One thing I _do_ know however, is what goes into the blend. All it takes for me is a sip and I can tell you the brand of instant, or the origin country of the grounds, or which syrups are in there.

Right. Think I'm stupid? No _way_ am I taking a sip of this.

Instead, I close my eyes and inhale the aroma. Damn, it smells _good_. Definitely fresh roast, deep and strong. The smell alone is enough to almost entice me into a taste. There's chicory and cinnamon and the very faint but unmistakable undertone of vanilla. This is the kind of coffee that's more dessert than drink, but nice for a treat on occasion I guess.

...And there's something else in it.

I frown, trying to work it out. I can't quite work out what the ingredient is. It's a bit like percentages and I can only identify 98% of what's in there.

I was right. I _knew_ I was right! There's something weird going on in Costly Coffee! HA!

Slamming down the cup, I open my eyes and see Craig raising the cup to his lips, not even looking at me.

"No! Don't drink it, I was right, _gnk _there's something in the coffee man, _ack _you'll be brainwashed!"

My voice is a yelp and with the headphones on, he can't hear me anyway. He seems to be moving in slow motion as the cup goes higher and higher, tilting in anticipation of the first mouthful.

Reaching across the table, I try to slap the cup from his hands, but instead I catch the wire of his headphones and yank them right out of his ears. Craig shoots me an irritated look, but the cup continues, his mouth touching the rim of the cardboard cup...

_I have to stop him!_

"Shit!" I scream, as loudly as I can. "Fuck! Dirtyballs, cumbucket, _cock cock cock_!"

Craig dives across the table, bashing into me and knocking the chair backwards. We fall onto the floor in a mess of arms and legs and spilled coffee and I have just about time to see his lust-filled eyes staring at me before he crashes his lips into mine, both his hands going up my shirt, warm on my chest, the coffee burning into my back.

For long seconds I freeze, which is the usual reaction I have when Craig gets like this. Mostly because I know he's going to hate himself first and me second once he returns to his right mind.

Then all of a sudden he's gone, body not pressing against mine. I blink, mouth still open, probably looking like a goldfish gone belly-up. Then my eyes refocus and I can see Craig, being held by the scruff of his neck by a burly Costly worker. He's _huge_. It's probably the same guy who runs the torture programme in the back room.

He propels Craig toward the door rapidly and I scramble up and dash after them, aware of all eyes on us. Craig is twisting in the grip, being forced to hurry or fall on his face. The burly guy looks furious and I'm not anxious to explain Craig's affliction right now, I just want to _leave_.

The guy reaches the exit and shoves Craig forward so that he crashes into the door, which opens under the force and spills him out of the store. The guy snorts and storms back toward the counter, while I just catch the door before it can close and get the hell out.

Craig picks himself up and flips off the store. After a moment, he glares at me and flips me off too. I flush and stare at the ground. I deserve that. There have been too many scenes like this in the past, too many times when he gets stares and comments and shoved around because he can't control himself. I've brought more shame on him and I hate myself for it.

"There was something in the coffee," I mumble.

"Fuck, Tweek." Craig doesn't seem to get adverse reactions when it's him doing the cursing and I guess he's gonna take full advantage of that now. "I don't give a flying fuck about this paranoid conspiracy _bullshit_. There's _nothing_ in the coffee! Why did you have to _do_ that?"

I want to justify myself, but he's so angry with me and my shirt is soaked with coffee, the cold air freezing it into my skin. I want to explain myself, but all I can do is repeat what I already said. "There was something in the coffee."

"Fuck you." Craig flips me off and storms off toward the car. I stand there, miserable, shivering with cold, ashamed. I knew Costly's was a mistake, I just knew it. Shit, why didn't I just grab the cup?

I hear Craig's car start across the street and he pulls out, his usual caution out of the window as he pulls into the road, screeching to a stop and reversing too quickly until the car is level with me. He leans over and throws open the passenger door.

"Get in."

I slide into the passenger side and shut the door, not daring to speak. Craig doesn't even try to make small talk, just drives me home as fast as the conditions allow, pulling up outside my parents house and turning off the engine, staring out of the front window.

I take small, sideways glances at him, forcing myself to speak. "I'm sorry."

His hands tighten on the wheel and I want to explain, tell him that I've saved him from something a little worse than the public humiliation he just suffered, but I can't find the words to make him believe me.

His voice is resigned. "Shit Tweek."

I stare at my knees, wishing I was a better person, that I knew some way of making it up to him. I made him behave like that on purpose. At school, when Cartman did that, he once said it made him feel used, sticky like a used Kleenex, some masturbatory fantasy that doesn't have a say in the matter. Raped, I guess. I should have thought of that before I did what I did.

But it's so easy.

"I'm sorry," I say again, my voice breaking. "I just didn't want you to drink the coffee."

He doesn't look at me. "Go get some sleep. I'll speak to you later."

"Craig..."

"I _know_." His voice is barely hiding his anger. "I _know_ you were trying to help. Just – go. I don't want to talk about it now."

I open the door and get out, Craig pulling out of the drive the second I slam the door.

I hate my life.


	2. Kids On Coffee

**Author Note: **Huge thanks to NotebookChen, RisaShootingStar, Jayjabee and KittyBePraised for the nice reviews, and to everyone who alerted and favourited! Writing in the first person present tense isn't something I'm familiar with, but I'm glad to know it worked and I gotta say, it's so much fun to be in Tweek's mind and let paranoia run wild! Catastrophising is so much fun. The same warnings apply for this chapter as for the last one and if you see a mistake, or want to leave a comment, feel free to hit the review button!

***&*&*&***

Once in my room, I strip off my shirt and examine it balefully. It's covered in contaminated coffee and I debate going back down and putting it in the washing machine. Then I decide against it. If my parents wake up, they'll be pissed. And maybe Costly will be taken to court or something and all the evidence will mysteriously disappear and I'll be the only person who has a sample of their coffee and it'll be no good if I wash the shirt. So I shove it in the back of the wardrobe instead.

Craig's pissed at me. Oh God, what if he hates me and stops talking to me and then tells everyone at school I'm an asshole, but then he finally snaps and goes on a killing spree and gets me first?

"GAH!"

No. That's not gonna happen. I just gotta find my centre and stop panicking. Taking a deep breath, I sit on the floor of my room and close my eyes. The familiar scene I always envision springs up, sunlit fields, playful animals, a clear blue stream. Peace. Quiet. No pressure.

After a couple of minutes, I feel a little calmer. I manage to put Craig's imminent killing spree out of my mind and think only of the calm. No pressure...

I hear a thud that jerks me out of my reverie. Widening my eyes, I listen carefully. The noise sounded a bit like the back door closing, but my parents were already asleep when I got home and who else would be at the back door now?

Craig. Craig, on a killing spree and oh shit, he's _really _pissed at me and he's gonna shoot me in the face and then go on a rampage and it'll take seventeen cops to take him down and _ack_! What am I gonna do?

There's another sound, something else I recognise – the creak of the stairs, someone trying not to make too much noise as they head up. Oh God oh God...

Thinking fast, I dive for the closet and hide in it. There's enough crap in the bottom for me to be partly concealed, but there's no handle on the inside and I can't close the door all the way. It's open a crack and from where I am, I can see the shape of my bed, still unmade from the morning, covers and pillow heaped together. I'm a messy bastard. So sue me.

Someone's walking about upstairs I hear the muffled sound of a door opening – the bathroom, I'd say. More steps, another door, my parents room. Someone taking pains not to be heard. If I'd been asleep or watching TV or something instead of meditating, I probably wouldn't have heard a thing.

My door opens.

I can feel my breath trying to come out in whistling, shallow gasps and I have to force myself to be quiet. A faint beam of light falls onto my bed, perhaps a small flashlight. I can see it playing across the piles of bedding as the silhouette of a man comes into view, some fucking huge guy by the looks but I can't tell much more other than he's wearing a baseball cap. That and his sheer size of course.

Oh shit, what if it's the Spirit of Human Kindness again? Come back to finish the job, abduct me and take liberties with my supple young body, oh shit shit _shit_...

It might be him, I guess, but I'm not sure he was that big. One thing I _can_ tell, it's not Craig, which is a relief, unless he's been on steroids and can steroids do that to you in twenty minutes?

The guy takes a handgun from his pocket and opens fire on my bed.

My shriek is lost beneath the sound of the shots, stupidly loud in the confines of my room. Feathers fly into the air, shredded bits of fabric and shit, that was nearly shredded bits of _me_!

"Tweek?" I can hear my dads voice, sounding sleepy and vaguely alarmed. "Are you playing video games again? Turn it down!"

The gunman stops shooting and glances at the door, putting the gun away and heading for the window. I offer up a quick prayer, hoping that he hasn't realised I'm not in the damn bed and he can't hear me – I'm shaking so hard, I think the entire closet might be vibrating. But my dad seems to have alarmed him, because he just opens the window and clambers out. There's a slight thud as he hits the ground, about twenty five feet below and I wonder what will happen if he broke his leg, oh God, what if he broke his neck and everyone thinks I pushed him out?

I creep out of the closet, staying low against the floor, taking a chance and peering out of the window to see if he's gone. I can see his shape, striding away from the house, totally unharmed apparently. I can see him a bit more easily in the streetlights and even though I still can't make out his face or anything, I can see that he's wearing a red shirt and matching cap.

Red. Like the uniform at Costly Coffee. And they all wear those caps when they're working.

Oh shit, I said something to Craig while we were in Costly's! I said they were brainwashing people and now they're on to me and they're trying to kill me!

They must have tailed us back, after we got thrown out. They followed Craig's car and he led them straight back here – and shit, what if they followed him back too?

I hurry back across the room, reach into the closet and pull out the first shirt I find, the one I spilled coffee all over earlier but fuck, I don't have time to search for something else. Snagging my phone, I run down the stairs and out of the house, ignoring another shout from my parents room. I race toward Craig's house, taking the shortest route, calling him from my phone.

"_The person you are calling is not available. Please try again later, or leave a message..."_

"Shit!"

He must be asleep already, or perhaps he just ignored it because he's still in a mood with me. Damn. Damn. What if he's already dead and the guy went to his house first and shot him? Oh shit, my best friend's dead and it's ALL MY FAULT! I killed him! I opened my mouth and now I'm being chased by killer coffee vendors and Craig's _dead_! It's – GAH, it's too much _pressure_!

I turn a corner and Craig's house comes into view. I skid to a stop, almost sliding over in the snow. There are cops outside, flashing lights. The neighbours are all peeking out from behind the curtains, taking in the scene. Craig's mom and dad are on the step in their robes, talking to a couple of the policemen and I can see his kid sister trying to see what's happening from the upstairs window.

And Craig's leaning against his car.

A grin lights up my face – I was so convinced he'd been killed that it's like seeing him come back from the dead or something. He doesn't look great though, kinda pale and shaky, sick-looking. Like I usually look. There's a gash across his forehead that's slowly oozing blood and he holds a tissue to it, trying to stop the worst of the dripping.

Barrelling over there, I let out a high-pitched squeak that attracts everyone's attention. A second later, I grab him in a giant hug. I'm not normally so touchy-feely, but _shit_, I'm so relieved. Something happened, something bad, but he's still alive and that's the important part.

Craig gives me exactly three seconds before disentangling himself from the hug. "Tweek, what the hell are you doing here?"

I open my mouth to tell him, then look at the cops suspiciously. What if they're working for Costly Coffee too? If they're being bribed to give information about anyone who might be suspicious, or to turn a blind eye when we get mysteriously offed?

Reading my expression, Craig rolls his eyes. "Y'know what? Tell me later."

"Wh-what happened?"

"His tyre blew out," says his dad irritably, clearly not pleased at being woken up and the whole neighbourhood watching. "Rolled the car, bashed his head."

"The cops helped me get the car home," says Craig. "So you can stop looking so panicked Tweek. Just a stupid accident."

"The tyre?" I glance over at the car. How likely is it that the tyre blew out on the same night someone tried to kill me? Oh God, it was the same guy! He followed us, found out where I live, got Craig to crash and then came back to finish me off!

Some of what I'm feeling must be showing on my face, because Craig puts a hand on my shoulder. "Relax."

"We're gonna head off now Mr Tucker," says one of the cops as they head back to their own car. "Take care now."

"Yeah, thanks," says Craig's dad, giving them a half-wave and glaring at us.

"I can't relax," I hiss at Craig as quietly as I can. "You're bleeding! You need stitches and we can't get to the hospital if your car's trashed and what if you have a concussion and die in your sleep?"

"Craig, it's late," yells his dad. "We're going to bed. Don't be too long."

"Right dad." Craig pauses for a minute or two while the police car drives away and his parents go inside. Once the coast is clear, except perhaps for a couple of lingering nosy neighbours who can't hear us here, he turns back to me. "What are you doing here? I took you home already."

"There was _gah_ a guy _gnk_ in my house and he _ack_ shot the place up!"

"...Are you sure?"

"YES!" I lower my voice hurriedly. "The whole room is GAH, the bed's full of _ack_ bullets and he was wearing a Costly uniform!"

Most people, knowing me, would write the experience down to paranoia or a bad dream. But Craig, _knowing_ me, knows better. And if he doesn't, the evidence is right there in my bedroom. He doesn't look too sceptical.

I look around, making sure no one can overhear. "Don't you think it's a little weird that the same night someone tries to kill me, your tyre blows out? It was shot out! They must have heard us – _me_ – talking in the coffee shop and now they know we're on to them and they're trying to kill us so we can't reveal their evil schemes and Costly Coffee can take over the world!"

"Calm down," he says absently. "Come in for a moment. My parents'll be listening for me coming in the house."

We walk into the house and Craig closes the door noisily, heading for the kitchen and running the tap to wash the blood residue off his face. I sit at the table to wait while he cleans up, trying not to blurt out anything else. If his parents hear me in here, they'll go schitz.

"There's an easy way to find out if there's anything in the coffee," says Craig once he's clean. "You've still got it all over your shirt. All we have to do is get it analysed and find out if there really _is_ anything extra in there. If there is, fine. Otherwise, Costly are probably in the clear."

"_Ack_! How are we gonna get it analysed? They probably run all the labs in town, all the labs in the _state_!"

He considers this for a moment. "We'll talk to Kyle."

"Kyle _Broflovski_?" Okay, maybe he does have a concussion after all and his mind is all messed up and he's gonna confused, because I don't see how Kyle can help us. "What's _he_ gonna do? Get his mom to start a protest about where labs take their bribes from?"

"His little brother's a genius," Craig says in a patient voice. "A couple of years ago, their dad let him set up a lab in the basement. Maybe he can analyse the shirt for us."

I nod at this. Everyone knows about Ike Broflovski and his super-smarts. "Their dad built him a lab?"

"Yup."

"Dude. _Way_ OTT."

A quick glance at Craig's head tells me he's stopped bleeding and I stand up. "Let's go."

"What, now? Tweek, it's the middle of the night!"

"This is serious!" I give a minor twitch. "We have to deal with this, before they send anyone else after us! If we wait until the morning, they could come back and finish the job _gnk _and I don't wanna die Craig! I wanna live! Gah! What if I was supposed to find the cure for cancer but then I get killed and then everyone in the world gets cancer and I could have stopped it but I'm too dead?"

"...You can cure cancer?"

"I don't know! I never tried!"

Craig rolls his eyes, but heads for the door. "Fine then, we do this now. But we'll have to walk."

"That's fine," I reply. Everyone else in South Park is always bundled up against the weather, but I barely feel the cold for some reason. Walking doesn't bother me. Kenny once said it's because I'm secretly Satan's love child and I should begin an incestuous affair with Damien to get it all out in the open, but that really freaked me out because if my dad knew, he'd start locking me in the cellar and beating me to get out his frustration at my mom's affair and then Satan would intervene and rip off my dads head and what if he wanted me to go into the family business? Craig said he'd kick Kenny's ass for giving me ideas, but then a helicopter got shot down and landed on Kenny, so he didn't have to. I think Kenny might have felt guilty, because when he got back, he said he'd asked Satan and I'm definitely not his. That's kind of a relief. I've got enough to deal with.

Sneaking out, we head over to the Broflovski house. Kyle lives in the nice part of town, not too far away from Token and Clyde. Me and Craig are further away from there. Go another five minutes from our neighbourhood and you get to the more run-down side, where the Marshes have a place. After that, you're over the train tracks and into the area that's like a holding pen for the Jerry Springer show, where the McCormick's and the Warner's live.

All the lights are out at Kyle's, which just figures. I'd assumed Ike would still be up, I thought geniuses never slept and stayed up solving world hunger and inventing things. Then again, I don't sleep much and I'm no genius. Luckily for me, I spent some time as a kid as one of their inner circle and I know exactly which room is Kyle's. It's the one with the handy tree just outside, the tree with the strong branches that should hold our weight, unless they're rotten and they spill us onto the ground and we break our backs and have to live in a home for paraplegics and get our money stolen by crooked nurses on crack.

Craig reads my mind again, because when I point out the room, he just climbs up the tree without comment. Nervously, I clamber after him. Craig knocks on the window and after a few moments, it rumbles open and Kyle's head pokes out. His hair's tousled from sleep but he's smiling – but when he sees us, he frowns irritably. Perhaps he was expecting Stan. Oh great, the last thing I needed to think about was why Stan might be crawling through Kyle's window in the middle of the night.

"Craig? Tweek? What the _fuck_ are you assholes doi-"

Craig launches himself through the window, knocking Kyle down and out of sight. I sigh. I should have seen this coming. Carefully, I climb from the tree and through the window, noting Kyle sprawled across the floor with Craig attacking his lips passionately.

"He stole your hundred dollars, remember," I say, checking out Kyle's room. I haven't been up here since I was eight, but it's more or less the same. The more childish posters have been replaced, but it's still neat and functional.

Kyle shoves Craig off him and Craig backs away, flipping him off. Kyle's well aware of Craig's affliction and he clears his throat awkwardly, then gets up and starts pretending the whole thing never happened. That's a pretty common reaction.

"What the – uh, what are you guys doing here?"

"Someone tried to shoot Tweek tonight," says Craig, shoving his hands in his pockets, not looking at Kyle. "And my tyre blew out while I was on my way home and it might have been a gunshot. Long story, but we think Costly Coffee are trying to kill us."

"I would have thought Tweek was their best customer," says Kyle.

"GAH!" I scream unintentionally. "Drink at _Costly_? No way man!"

"Shhh!" Kyle glances at the door, probably worried about his mom coming in. "So you came _here_? _Why_?"

"Tweek thinks there's something odd in the coffee," says Craig and Kyle nods, accepting this. You don't argue with me about coffee. "It's all over his shirt. You've got a lab in your basement. You can, I dunno, run a sample through and tell us what it is."

Kyle frowns. "And this will prove what exactly?"

"That Costly are trying to brainwash us!" I glare at Kyle, wondering if he understands the severity of the situation. "They're trying to take over the world and make everyone mindless slaves and they're trying to _kill_ us, so we have to expose them and then they have to leave us alone!"

I'm quite sure Craig and Kyle don't mean me to see the helpless shrugs they exchange, but I do anyway. Kyle wanders over to the bed and grabs his phone from the dresser, flipping it open and starting to text.

"Who are you telling?" I ask, terrified. Maybe Kyle's secretly working for Costly and we made a big mistake coming here, he's gonna narc us out and then Costly employees will arrive and take us away and force feed us their crappy coffee so we become their drones and spend our lives wandering around the country trying to talk people into drinking their coffee and _shit_!

...Well, not their shit. Unless that's the secret ingredient – oh _God_, you hear about things like that, that's why I don't eat out too often, because you never know when people are gonna substitute coffee for shit or deep-fry rats and say it's chicken, or put anthrax in your Happy Meal. No, I'd have known if it was shit. I've smelled that once or twice before.

"Stan and Kenny," he says casually. "They're good with this kinda thing."

"What he means is that it's a good excuse to get Stan over here," says Craig casually, but there's a wicked glint in his eye. "And Kenny's his cover."

"Fuck you!" yells Kyle, then he just yells and dives behind the bed. Craig tries to follow and I grab him, holding him back and muttering soothing words about guinea pigs and flute bands. Craig calms down pretty quickly and I have to admit, as far as fuck you's go, that one wasn't especially erotic.

Once the coast is clear, Kyle pops his head out from behind the bed, sending the door a nervous glance before going back to his phone. I perch on the computer chair, while Craig makes himself comfortable on the end of the bed.

"They're on their way," says Kyle, putting the phone away. "Tell me what's going on."

I let Craig tell the story, noticing that he gives it a few flourishes. Like the part where he announces, "And then me and Stan made out." Kyle can probably guess what really happened, but his brow creases anyway. I gulp. Kyle might be mostly rational, but he has a helluva temper when he gets going and when it comes to Stan, he's anything but rational. And he hangs out with Cartman. Oh shit, gotta get Craig to avoid chilli for a while.

He also changes the reason for us being thrown out of Costly's to the spilled coffee, not what we did to spill it. There's an action movie style run-down of how he valiantly avoided being killed in a drive-by, which strikes me as slightly odd since he didn't even see the shooter who blew his tyre out. But if it makes Kyle believe us more, then that's fine by me.

By the time he's finished, there's a knock at the window and Kyle goes over to let in Stan and Kenny. Kenny looks like he just rolled out of bed, which is probably about right, whereas Stan looks more like he was already about to leave the house. Strange.

"We might be able to hack into the computer records," says Kyle, once he gives a quick run-down on why we're here. "I'll wake Ike up and ask for his help. Tweek, we'll need your shirt."

"Gah!" I look down at my shirt nervously. "But – what am I gonna wear man?"

"Here." Kyle goes into a drawer and finds a white sweater, throwing it at me. "Put this on."

I flush. "I'm not taking off my clothes in front of you guys!"

Craig rolls his eyes. "It's fine Tweek, I'm sure we can all control ourselves while you're shirtless."

"Speak for yourself." Kenny grins at me from his seat at the top of the bed, leaning against the headboard. "Take it off baby!"

I shriek and Craig lobs a pillow at Kenny's head. "Just get on with it Tweek. The faster we analyse the coffee, the faster we can stop all these attempts on our lives."

I change my clothes, starting to shake as something occurs to me. "Gah, you're right! What if they realise they didn't finish the job and come back to get us? What if we were followed? They could be watching us _right now_!"

"They'd have done something," says Craig, but he looks uneasy anyway.

"You better not have brought gun-wielding baristas down on us," snaps Kyle.

"Look, why don't we go through the computer files and run the tests while Tweek and Craig go into hiding?" asks Stan, trying to sound reasonable.

"Hiding?" Craig scowls. "We live in a pissant town in the mountains. Where the hell we gonna hide?"

Kyle and Stan exchange looks and Kyle grabs a pen, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. "Go here. This is the address of... Ze Mole."

Kenny slams his head back, into the wall. "Ah, shit, not that guy!"

A moment later, Craig is there to kiss his boo-boos all better. I sigh. "Sexy action news."

Weirdly, Craig just continues with his ministrations and Kenny, the bastard, isn't pushing him away like most people do. Perhaps 'sexy' was the wrong word to use. I frown and try again. "That time we were sleeping at Clyde's and he got the squits really bad?"

I don't think he heard me, so I grab Kyle's phone from beside the computer and hurl it at his head. That does the trick, Craig breaks away from Kenny and turns to glare at me instead.

I ignore the look. "What's... Ze Mole?"

Those looks between Stan and Kyle again. "Just a guy we know," says Stan with pseudo-casualness. "He'll be able to protect you."

"You want me to _trust_ a guy called... Ze Mole?"

"You got a point, _Tweek_?"

"No." I stand up, wondering if we'll even get to where we're going without being killed. Craig gets up too and after a moment, so does Kenny.

"I'll come with," he says cheerfully. "Protect your sorry asses."

"_Protect_ us?" I stare at Kenny in disbelief. "You're a _magnet_ for trouble!"

"So, if anyone starts shooting, they'll hit me and not you." Kenny stretches and smirks at me. "Lets go."

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate my life?


	3. Coffee And Cigarettes

**Authors Note: **Huge thanks to jayjabee, Roksu, KittyBePraised, NotebookChen, IsaShootingStar, Kenneth22 and Hayze-Chan for the awesome reviews! I love getting them and finding out what people like (or don't like, lol).

This chapter took a while to post even though it was written even before I started posting the story, just because I'm busy as hell at the moment and the fourth chapter isn't yet completed. I like to have the next chapter done before I post, because I am anal, lol.

And on a side note: a couple of reviewers have mentioned an apparent misspelling in the previous chapter (which would carry into this one too). It's actually not a misspelling at all. I'm English and there are some occasional differences between English and American spellings. Also, before I edit chapters, there are an awful lot more characters shouting, "Bloody hell!" Which amuses me for no good reason.

**&*&*&*&**

The night sky is as dark as – well, with all the light pollution, it's not dark enough for my liking, not when we're trying to keep a low profile from deranged, coffee-obsessed killers. I mean, what's wrong with some people?

Kenny seems unconcerned and Craig is pretending to be unconcerned – it would take someone who knows him pretty well to see how he's sticking to the shadows and keeping his head ducked into the collar of his jacket... oops, I know him pretty well. Sorry Craig, your secret's out. I know you're nervous. And that of course is making me more nervous.

A couple of times, cars drive past and we all dive for cover. The second time, we end up behind someone's hedge in a tangle, which doesn't make things any easier. Oh, how I would love to swear right now.

Eventually though, we get to the address Kyle gave us. It's just your average South Park house, the snow covering the path to the door, all the lights out. I look harder, but can't see anything. "Should we knock at this time?"

"Kyle texted him to expect us," says Kenny, although he sounds reluctant.

"Then let's get out of the open and under cover," snaps Craig.

We start walking for the door, through the snow-covered grass, which proves to be a mistake after three steps, when the ground gives way beneath us. I yelp, the sound cut off as I hit the bottom of the hole, some eight feet below. A moment later Kenny lands on me and a moment after _that_, Craig lands on him.

Ouch.

"...You bastards," I groan weakly.

They get up quickly and help me to my feet. I check myself out and groan again. The mud and snow have combined into a wonderful dark slush and the sweater Kyle lent me is filthy, not to mention the rest of me. Looking up, I can see the edge of the hole is too far up for us to reach and the walls are as slimy as the floor. Perfect. Just fucking _perfect_. Costly found out we were coming here and set a trap.

A face appears at the edge of the hole, looking down on us. It's dark, but I can just make out the trace of a smile illuminated by a cigarette.

"Careless," comments the person in a voice that's unmistakably male and filled with glee; there's also an accent strong enough to stand a spoon in. "You will 'ave to be more careful zan zat if you wish to remain alive."

Craig glances at Kenny and whispers, "Is that... Ze Mole?"

"That's him. Asshole." Kenny glares up at the guy. "Are you gonna stand there laughing your ass off, or you gonna get us outta here?"

"Laughing seems a good option."

"You fucking dick-licking French-"

Craig pounces, knocking Kenny against the side of the hole and pressing up against him. I put my face in my hands. This has not been a good night.

"Perhaps you would rather I left you down zere?"

I stare up imploringly at the man. "Please, can you just _ack_ get us outta here?"

He considers for a moment, then a rope falls into the hole. I grab the end, wondering how I'm gonna climb out with this – I was always shitty climbing these things in phys ed – and suddenly, there's a pull on the other end. With a scream of alarm, I'm dragged out of the hole, coming to rest on the ground above. Okay, so this guy's pretty strong. That would be more reassuring if I could be sure he was on our side.

He drops the rope back into the hole to get Kenny and Craig and I take the chance to study him. He's maybe six foot, olive skinned, wearing combats and a T-shirt. He's also got a shovel slung across his back for some reason. At least it explains the hole.

Once Kenny and Craig are out, he starts winding the rope back up, glaring at the three of us. "Kyle says you 'ave been marked for death by angry coffee salesmen?"

"Yeah," replies Kenny. "Well, these two have. Can we go inside? We don't wanna be on the street too long."

Ze Mole snorts. "I knew it was a mistake to let zem two fucking pussies 'ave my number. Now I 'ave to fucking babysit some..."

It was kinda worth falling into the hole just to see the look on Ze Mole's face as Craig leaps into his arms. To his credit he doesn't fall, just catches Craig and stares in shock as the boy snatches away his cigarette before latching on to his mouth. After a horrified couple of moments, he throws Craig backwards onto the ground, snatching the shovel from his back and advancing threateningly.

"What ze _fuck_ are you doing, you sheet-sucking..."

"Shut up!" yells Kenny, grabbing Craig around the waist as he gets up again.

I slap my hand over Ze Mole's mouth, promptly unable to believe I've done it. "Swearing makes it _gnk_ worse, don't GAH say anything!"

Nodding, Ze Mole puts his hand on mine and removes it from his mouth. "Ze people in zis town are completely – _messed_ up."

"You're learning," says Kenny with a tired grin, his arms still around Craig although he seems to be over it. "I'll explain it to you inside."

Ze Mole nods curtly, leading the way into the house. I don't know what I expected, but this isn't it. The walls are _pink_ for fucks sake. There's a crucifix on the wall, featuring a Jesus that looks far too happy about his situation, a statue of the Virgin Mary on top of the TV. No family pictures from what I can see, although I recognise one picture being of Jesus again, going ape-shit at the money lenders in the temple. Yikes, they couldn't have gone for the whole Merciful Saviour thing? The Vengeful God motif is freaking me out.

Ze Mole drops heavily into one of the floral chairs, indicating that we three should sit on the couch. I perch nervously on the edge, Craig next to me and Kenny far more relaxed than either of us on the end. Ze Mole finds another cigarette and lights it, staring at us. When his gaze falls on me, I jump and give a small shriek. He just grins while Kenny explains a few things.

"You can't just 'ide forever," he says, seeming pleased by this. "You will 'ave to take action and soon. Zat is where I come in."

"Wait," says Craig. "I thought you were just going to give us a place to hide. No one said anything about action. We don't _like_ action."

"Zat's what Kyle said," replies ze Mole. "And zat's why he neglected to mention zat part of ze plan. Something about 'ow you no longer trust 'im after your trip to Peru?"

Craig growls, but before he can say anything, Ze Mole's phone rings and he shrugs. "Speak of ze devil."

He answers and speaks in a low voice, which I personally think is just for effect because come on, we can still hear him and who else is here to listen? Oh shit, who _is _here to listen? What if there's someone else in the house?

"_Oui_? Uh-huh... oh, _zat's_ not suspicious. Zey got 'ere fine... _oui_, 'e did and you could 'ave warned me zat would 'appen – huh, I'll show you fun, you fu – uh, I shall call later with all ze names I plan to call you for zat stunt. I 'ope Stan tears it off. And zen you tear 'is off. Wait, I shall tell zem zis."

He glances up. "Zey 'ave found zat Costly Coffee's main stock'older is a political group, ze Canadian Coalition. Zeir support has tripled since zey got involved in ze coffee business."

I shriek. "I told you it was the Government! They're brainwashing people! Brainwashing us all!"

Kenny raises an eyebrow. "Be serious. Why would Canadians be brainwashing _us_? We don't have the vote over there."

The Mole points to a computer in the corner and Craig goes over and switches it on. I turn to Kenny, trying to explain it to him. "The Government want us to turn against Canada so that they can have nothing to do with us and withdraw from all the peace treaties and try to take over the world! Gah, I don't wanna be a Canadian! I hate maple syrup!"

"Shame," comments The Mole. "Oh, Kyle says zat is a wicked stereotype."

I roll my eyes. Kyle and his stupid intolerance of stereotypes and his Canadian brother. The Mole goes back to his conversation, speaking in low tones that I totally ignore.

Craig scans the monitor. "Hey, check this out. The Canadian Coalition says that Americans will eventually turn on Canada, raid their natural resources, steal their women and eat their young."

"See?" I tug a handful of my hair in agitation. "They're gonna use their mindbending coffee to make us all turn on Canada so they have an excuse to go to war with us and eventually take over the world! And we're _first_!"

"Not all Canadians," says Ze Mole, flipping his phone closed as he ends the conversation. "Just zis Coalition. Zere is little information on who is involved and zey have good security. It will take Kyle some time to 'ack ze system. But 'is brother 'as run a check on ze coffee – 'e says zere was sodium pentathol in zere."

"GAH!" I really need to stop tugging on my hair, it's probably stuck all over the place. No, wait. What I _really_ need is coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

"It gives us a problem," continues Ze Mole. "Zere is no way to prove zat the coffee on ze shirt 'as come from Costly. And when zey realise you two beetches are still alive, zey will 'ide ze evidence. Zis means if we are to prove any of zis, we must find ze evidence tonight."

Kenny glances at the clock. "We've got a few hours until Costly re-opens. Better move fast."

"Whoa, whoa, wait." Craig glares at Kenny and Ze Mole. "Maybe me and Tweek should stay here. Y'know, since everyone at Costly Coffee _wants to kill us_!"

"Zere is nowhere better to 'ide zen ze one place zey will not expect you to be," says Ze Mole.

"And we need Tweek," adds Kenny. I jump and squeak as he says my name. "If there's something wrong there, we might overlook it, but he'll know."

"You want _me_ to go?" I start shaking more than usual. "I can't! That's way too much pressure!"

"You'll be fine Tweek," says Kenny.

"GAH!"

"You need to change," says Ze Mole unexpectedly, giving Kyle's sweater a critical glance. "Zat is white and too bulky for such a mission. You will be seen _and_ caught. Come with me, I shall get you something better."

Is he _serious_? He wants me to go off with him? The crazy fuck who already dropped us in a hole and tried to kill Craig? No way! He'll kill me and chop me up and bury me in the backyard with that same fucking shovel!

"I'll make you some coffee while you do that," says Craig calmly, like I'm not about to be murdered by some fucking French psycho. "Kitchen through there?"

"_Oui_." Ze Mole indicates to the door which presumably leads to the stairs. "Come on, 'urry up. I won't 'urt you."

I don't quite dare to say no thanks, I'd rather just wear the sweater, so I flee for the door, hoping to get changed before he can work himself into a blood-lust. As I go past him, he mutters, "Much," under his breath.

Kenny says something to the Mole in a warning voice, but I don't hear it over the sound of my own screams.

Once Kenny manages to reassure me that Ze Mole just has a very, very warped sense of humour, I reluctantly go upstairs and to what's presumably his room – although it's less a bedroom, more a bunker. The bed's hidden in a corner, almost lost under a pile of what I'm hoping is a model gun half-dissembled and several metres of uncoiled rope. I really. Don't. Want. To know. There's an open book on interrogation tactics beside the bed, a selection of knives on top of the dresser and a spare shovel leaning in the corner. I mean, who keeps a spare shovel in their fucking _bedroom_? A certifiable lunatic, that's who. Shit, he's probably some Norman Bates character and he's gonna dress up like his murdered mom and chase me through South Park and then Costly'll get me for sure!

"Take zat thing off," he says, going to the dresser and pulling out a green T-shirt. Reluctantly, I peel off the sweater. I can't say it's white after the drop down the hole, but it's wet and unpleasant and it was too hot and itchy anyway. He throws the shirt in my general direction and when I try to catch it, I miss.

"Wait, 'old zis," he says, taking off the shovel and holding it out at me. I'm torn between taking the shovel or going for the shirt, since I'm topless here, but the impatient look he gives me makes up my mind; shovel first, shirt later.

He goes through the drawers, muttering under his breath until he locates what he's looking for, a digital camera. "It might be a good idea to 'ave photo evidence of what we find at ze coffee 'ouse. You can never 'ave too much proof."

"Good thinking," I say, relaxing a bit. Maybe he's a psycho, but at least he knows what he's doing.

"Let me just check ze batteries – and ze flash."

He raises the camera and takes a picture of me. I blink.

"Just 'ave to adjust ze – okay." He takes another picture. "Now lean on ze shovel. Zat's right. Turn a bit to ze left."

I obey mindlessly for a few seconds before coming to my senses and letting out a scream. "GAAAH!! What the hell are you doing?"

"Checking ze camera works?"

"No you're not! You've devised some hideous scheme to get me shirtless and involve me in your deranged shovel porn!"

"...Well, zat too."

"GAH!" I try yanking at my hair without letting go of the shovel. It hits a shelf, sending a pile of Guns And Ammo magazines to the floor. "Oh God, you're gonna put it on some seedy website, I just know it, then everyone'll find out and it'll get on the news and I'll get the sack and then I'll have to find another job and no one will hire me except pole dancing clubs and I'll have to spin around shovels in a thong for the REST OF MY LIFE!!"

"Zat doesn't sound too bad," says Ze Mole with a wicked grin. "But zis isn't for ze internet. I shall keep zem for my own collection."

"AAAARRGGHHHHH!" I drop the shovel, snag the shirt and run for my fucking life.

Once in the living room, I trip headlong over the rug and land on my stomach, knocking the wind out of myself. Strangely, my flight down the stairs and inglorious splat hasn't dragged Craig or Kenny out of the kitchen and I calm down a little before getting up and limping to investigate.

The pair of them are stood beside the kettle, waiting for it to finish boiling. Kenny's leaning against the counter, Craig's measuring coffee into a cup. It's so normal that I forget about having a panic attack.

"...Kinda mental, but you'll be fine," Kenny is saying. "Y'know, one a scale of the weirdest things to ever happen to me, this isn't even in the top twenty."

"That's fine for you," replies Craig, dropping the spoon into the cup. "But I like my life nice and dull."

"Yeah," says Kenny with a smirk. "Because you're so freaking _boring_."

Craig glances at Kenny, then moves to put either hand on the counter around him, effectively trapping him in place. He darts his head forward, his lips meeting Kenny's in a way that gives me pause – usually, Craig's all pushy and urgent when he has one of his incidents, but he's a lot more tentative this time. And unlike most other people, Kenny isn't pushing him away. In fact, his hands are moving like they're about to go around Craig's waist.

The kettle shuts off with a click that makes me jump and yelp. The pair split up hurriedly, Craig glancing over at me and quickly looking away, going back to preparing the coffee. Kenny just kinda smirks and shrugs a little.

"Any reason why you're not wearing a shirt there Tweek?" he asks. I look down. In my panic, I took the shirt and just kept hold of it. Twitching, I yank it over my head before going to Craig to take my drink. Damn, I need this so much right now.

Kenny wanders out of the kitchen and I take a moment to give Craig a meaningful look. He actually looks embarrassed. "Come on Tweek, you know how I get. It's not like I can help it."

"I know that," I reply, blowing on the coffee to try to cool it, knowing I'm gonna have to drink it soon even if it burns a hole in my tongue and I'm never able to speak again. "But he didn't _gnk_ swear."

Craig thinks about this for a minute. "Oh shit."

I laugh at his expression. "Busted."

"Do you think he noticed?"

"I don't think he minded."

"Oh _shit_."

"Chill out," I say, laughing again at the reversal of our usual roles.

"So, uh," he says, clearly trying to change the subject. "Why _are_ you wandering around the house without your shirt?"

"GAH!" I take a healthy sip of coffee, grimacing as I burn my mouth. "Let's just say, never trust a Frenchman."

Craig raises his eyebrows at this, but at that moment, Kenny and Ze Mole enter the kitchen. I twitch violently but luckily, avoid spilling my coffee. Still, the sight of the crazy bastard makes me drain the entire cup, then wince in pain.

"You're nuts Tweek," says Kenny cheerfully. "We ready to do this?"

"No," says Craig gloomily.

"Oh, come on," says Kenny, throwing an arm over Craig's shoulders. "It'll be an experience!"

I might have smirked knowingly at Craig, but the presence of Ze Mole has frozen my features into an expression of sheer terror.

We head for the front door, ready to accost the Costly conspirators, but the moment Ze Mole puts his hand on the door, a shrill female voice rings out from upstairs.

"_Christophe!"_

Ze Mole actually winces. "_Oui_ muzzer?"

"Can I 'ear people down zere?"

"No muzzer!"

Now I can see where he gets the insanity from. It's hereditary. I've been screaming the place down and as soon as it goes quiet, she hears people? Oh God, what if she _does_ hear people, like _dead_ people like Ike that time and she just thought it was Ze Mole and we're really surrounded by ghosts? Or she's hearing voices? I mean, Ze Mole's clearly fucking insane, stands to reason she is too and _shit_, what if she's hearing voices telling her to burn everything and kill us all and she attacks us with a gun shaped like a shovel and blows our brains all over the walls and Costly destroy the world?

"You 'ad better not be going out to play at zis hour!"

"No muzzer!"

"Well, get to bed zen. You need your beauty sleep, you 'ave zose 'uge dark shadows under your eyes!"

"_Oui_ muzzer." Ze Mole – Christophe – shoots us a look that's part embarrassment, part sheer misery, part threat to murder us and dismember our corpses if we dare to comment. "Meet me out ze back in five minutes."

The three of us sneak out through the front door, Kenny and Craig snickering. Me, I'm just grateful his mom is still alive, since that means he didn't kill her and doesn't go around knifing people in showers dressed in her clothes on weekends.

We go around to the back yard, making damn sure the ground is solid before we put our feet down. Almost as soon as we get there, a window upstairs opens and Ze Mole comes rappelling out, like he thinks he's James frigging Bond or someone and he's about to make a daring escape after evading helicopters and gunmen to leave chocolates in some chicks bedroom.

James Bond's French, right?

He unhooks himself form the wires and stalks over to us, practically daring us to comment on his method of leaving. "Alright beetches."

Kenny grabs Craig's wrist and Ze Mole pretends he hasn't noticed. "Leave your vehicles 'ere. We will attract less attention on foot."

"We didn't bring vehicles," says Kenny patiently.

Ze Mole gives him a look that suggests he's working with amateurs. "You 'ad better 'ope nothing goes wrong zen and we do not 'ave to blow town in an 'urry. We break into Costly, shut of ze alarms, take anything zat might be used as evidence, take some pictures and get ze 'ell out."

"Um, pictures?" asks Kenny.

Ze Mole produces his camera, making me scream. He shoots me an oddly indulgent smirk and I flush a little. Perhaps he really wasn't conspiring to get me naked and posing with the shovel.

"Zis will suffice," he says, giving me a lecherous wink. "Photography is an 'obby of mine."

Or maybe he _was_ conspiring all along.

Kenny and Craig both look slightly freaked out and I don't even wanna know what kind of look is on my face. Ze Mole strives for innocence. It reminds me of a T-Rex proclaiming vegetarianism. "What? Sunsets and flowers and..." He waves a hand dismissively. "Other clichéd things."

Seeming disturbed, Kenny turns. "Whatever. Let's get there and do this thing."

Great. Ready to go into the lions den, saving the world from crazy Canadians with my sexually odd best friend, his immortal would-be boyfriend and a insane French mercenary who wants to get involved in a three-way with me and a gardening tool.

Did I mention that I hate my life?


	4. Bad Coffee

**Author Note: **Massive thanks to RisaShootingStar, jayjabee, NotebookChen, KittyBePraised, tazrr, Hayze-Chan and Ice Demon Meru for the positive reviews! And special thanks to Moku! Hope you're recovered from your car accident and thanks again *hugs*

Incidentally, I've updated my profile page, including an all-new meme (you know how I love doing those things, lol) and a little background information on CCC and Crackbunnies. Also, click the link to my homepage – strictly speaking, it's not my homepage at all, but an RP site that frequently distracts me from writing, heh heh. And if it's your kinda thing, join! We're looking for new members and there's no 'taken' characters per se; each different game lets you be whomever the role needs.

**&*&*&*&***

It's not the first time I've ever seen Costly closed, but usually it's first thing in the morning and there are staff members visible inside, setting up for the days trade. Even when it's busy it's imposing, now it's empty and dark it seems somehow menacing. My permanent tremor mutates into active shakes. I can't believe we're really about to walk into the lions den.

Craig puts a hand on my arm. "Chill. It'll be okay."

I shoot him a look of gratitude and try to toughen up. I've been in worse situations than this – of course, I'm having problems thinking what they were now I'm struggling with the urge to turn tail and run, get the hell out of town before I end up dead. But it's too late; Christophe is already examining the building with a cigarette in his mouth and a thoughtful look in his eye.

"Ze alarms will not be a problem," he says, taking the cigarette from his lips and ditching it on the floor. It's replaced immediately, as if by magic. Quite a trick. "You three, 'ide around ze back of ze shop over zere. When ze coast is clear, I shall make a sound like a dying giraffe."

"What does a dying giraffe sound like?" Craig asks. Christophe covers his mouth and makes the most bizarre sound I've ever heard. How he knows what noises a giraffe makes while it's dying is something I don't want to think about.

Kenny, Craig and I head off around the back of the coffee shop where I work and I stand there, in the middle of the night, being hunted by killers, waiting to hear a dying giraffe. Kenny and Craig keep on accidentally-on-purpose looking at each other and hurriedly looking away again. I get the feeling my presence here is hampering their karmic love connection, but they're putting up with it because Craig getting killed would put even more of a damper on it.

The sound of a dying giraffe fills the air and we all look up, like we're expecting it to come around the corner and expire at our feet. Why a dying giraffe? If he's trying to fit into the background noise, wouldn't it be less conspicuous to make a sound like I don't know, a cat getting knocked up? Then again, in this town, it wouldn't be too outrageous to imagine the giraffe. Oh shit, what if it really is a dying giraffe and the Mole got caught and we go to Costly and get caught too and they brainwash us all and the giraffe has a disease and the whole town goes down with it and we could have saved everyone if only we'd used the sound of mating cats instead?

I whimper and Craig looks impatient, motioning at me to come on. I think he knows where my thoughts are heading. Kenny slopes around the corner first – if anything bad happens, it's probably best it happens to him because he can come back from it. Craig follows him and I trail after them, glancing down at my clothes. My jeans are filthy and the shirt the Mole gave me is way too large but it gives me a bit more confidence, like I can channel his crazy fearlessness from it. Which is stupid, but it helps my shakes.

I can't see the Mole at first, then I hear the giraffe noise again and follow the sound around the back of Costly. He's found his way into the employee entrance and is leaning against the door, as if breaking and entering is just an average part of his daily routine. Perhaps it is. I have to make sure my house is more secure – _if_ I live through tonight.

I glance around the room as we go into the building. It's the same as any of the other coffee shops I've been in over the years, like Tweaks or Harbucks or the place I work now. Supplies are stacked neatly against the walls, there are refrigeration units and stock cupboards. It all seems normal.

That's what they _want_ you to think.

Ze Mole takes off into the shadows, while Kenny mooches around, checking out the supplies. I can't help wondering if he's looking for stuff to steal, but that's just mean isn't it? Just because he's poor doesn't mean he's gonna start taking things.

He finds a Costly cap and pulls down his hood, jamming it on his head and grinning at me. Okay, so maybe it's not being poor that makes him take stuff without paying, perhaps it's just being Kenny.

I look over at Craig, who's giving me an impatient look, so I go over to one of the already opened bags of beans and reach into it, taking a handful. They look fine. I close my eyes and breathe in. Nothing wrong with these, so whatever happens to the coffee must happen after it's ground.

I head for the counter and take a look around. I can't see anything immediately suspicious, just the usual crap you find behind a coffee shop counter. Glancing behind me, I can see the machine that adds the shots to the coffee...

...And there's something weird about it.

I frown, checking it closer. See, in most machines there's the space to put the ingredients in, but in this machine, there's an extra space. Cautiously, I open the lid and look inside; there's some kind of clear liquid in there. Water? Huh, right. I knew it. I _knew_ it. That's the added ingredient!

Glancing over my shoulder, I see Craig watching me. "I got it _gnk_! It's right _here_!"

"Great." Craig grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and empties it into the sink. "Let's get a sample and get the hell outta here."

He chucks the water bottle at me and I fumble it before getting a grip. Smirking, he leans back against the counter, his hands brushing some stuff out of the way. Immediately, there's a weird grinding noise from the back of the shop and I slam both hands over my mouth to cover the scream. Oh shit, we're dead, we're so _dead_, they've found us and they'll take us to their torture chamber and kill us and force us to drink the coffee and our reanimated zombies are gonna do their evil bidding and I don't wanna be a zombie!

Kenny looks through the door leading to the back room, then back at Craig and I. "There's a hidden cellar – looks like one of us activated the switch. We were walking right over it the whole time and never realised."

"Well, that's not suspicious," says Craig with heavy sarcasm.

I start whimpering as I try to get some of the liquid into the bottle without actually touching it. Shit, _shit_, we're screwed, we're _fucked_, there's no way no one heard that...

And sure enough, I hear the give-away sound of the safety of a gun being released. "Freeze!"

"GAH!"

I spin around, almost dropping the bottle into the coffee machine. There's a guy standing there – shit, I recognise him! That's the guy who threw Craig out of the store earlier! I _knew_ he ran the torture programme!

He glances over at Kenny casually. "Good thing you found them before they caused any real trouble. I thought I took care of both of them earlier. They must be cleverer than I thought. Probably Government spies, trying to find out what's going on..."

I realise two things simultaneously. One, the big guy took a look at Kenny's stolen cap and assumed he works at Costly. Two, he was the guy who tried to kill us before, which means we gotta get out of here _now_.

Before I can think about what I'm doing, I grab Kenny around the neck and jam two fingers against his temple. Kenny grunts in surprise and I try standing on my tip-toes to look a bit more intimidating – Kenny's a good few inches taller than me, that means I can barely see over his shoulder as it is.

"Drop the GAH gun!" I yell at the big guy. "Or I'll shoot!"

He gives me a strange look. "I'm pretty sure your fingers ain't loaded."

Shit, he noticed. I twitch in terror and try another tactic. "You were _gnk _right! I'm Government and my hands are _ack_ deadly weapons! GAH! I'll blow his head off!"

In the corner of my eye, I can see Craig palming his face. But the big guy looks kinda uncertain. Oh shit, please tell me bought it!

"Don't hurt me!" shouts Kenny, sounding closer to laughter than tears but trying to play along. "I wanna live! I wanna _live_!"

"He'll do it!" yells Craig, making the big guy jerk his head in that direction. "He will, he's fucking psycho man! He's outta control, just drop the gun before he kills him!"

The big guy looks at me, back at Craig, at me again. And then, oh thank Jesus, he raises his hands in a surrender gesture, carefully tossing the gun aside. I let out a shaky breath, not moving my fingers from Kenny's temple.

"Okay," I say, trying to remember every hostage film I've seen. I start trying to walk backward, pulling Kenny along by his neck. He makes a sound of protest and I ignore it. "Stay where _gnk _you are man. We're gonna walk GAH outta here, nice and slow, and no one has to get _ack_ hurt, okay?"

"Okay," replies the big guy with a smirk. And just as I'm trying to work out what's so funny, there's a sharp pain in the back of my head and stars dancing before my eyes. And for some reason, the floor's getting closer...

...Oh, right.

I hit the floor and then there's darkness and nothing.

~:~

My head hurts.

I know this before I even realise I'm awake and the waking part seems secondary. What the fuck? Did me and the guys have a few drinks last night? No... not beer. Coffee. Something about coffee.

I twitch, which tells me three things at once. First, it's something I should avoid from now on, the bolt of pain it sent through my head hurts like a bitch. Second, I'm not in bed suffering from a killer hangover – I'm sat up, my weight shifting with the force of the tremor telling me there's nothing to my sides, but there is something solid at my back. And third, I'm basically okay. In pain, sure, but still the same, still able to move, still afflicted with the tremors that plague my life.

My arms are asleep. I try moving them, awaiting the inevitable agony as the muscles complain. But when I shift, I find my wrists hampered. They're trapped behind my back, and now I notice that my shoulders are forced backward too, my body hanging forward but prevented from falling by whatever has hold of my wrists.

Which leads me to observation number four; I'm tied to a fucking chair.

I open my eyes.

The first thing I see is my own knees, my dirty jeans and mud-coated converse beyond. I blink, bringing my vision into focus properly before raising my head. Yowch. My neck's stiff as hell and after having all the blood rushing to my head, it feels swimmy now.

"You're awake," someone murmurs in a low voice beside me. I'd know that nasally tone anywhere. Craig.

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. What if we were drinking and I got wasted and forgot myself and started swearing and Craig jumped me and tied me to the chair in some kink-tastic fit of lust and we had filthy man-sex only I don't remember any of it and I can never look him in the face again and oh shit, it's all too much _pressure_...

..No, wait. We weren't drinking. We were in Costly Coffee and oh _shit_, they used their freaky coffee to brainwash us into having kinky man-sex and it's all on the security tapes and probably the internet by now and...

...And what kind of sex involves me keeping my pants on?

I manage to calm my breathing by closing my eyes for a few seconds and imagining my happy place. Trees, birds, rainbows, chastity belts, all the good shit.

"_Tweek!"_

Craig's voice is a hiss, the snake in my Eden, so I open my eyes again and turn my head, almost sure I can hear the stiffened tendons creaking. Craig is sitting on a chair, the heavy plastic type you find in Costly Coffee, a funky neon blue. His hands are bound to it, tied behind him just like mine are. He looks less shitty than I feel though.

"Thanks for joining the land of the living," he says with dry sarcasm.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me properly. Being shot at, Ze Mole, breaking into Costly, the big guy finding us. And then – something happened. Presumably, I was knocked out. And now we're in the lair of the evil Costly conspirators, tied up, defenceless, we're not gonna be able to stop them when they torture and kill us and grind up our bodies into meat and start selling us in those disgusting pre-packed sandwiches and I'm too young to be eaten by coffee zombies and I'm gonna die and Craig's gonna die all because I couldn't keep my mouth shut and it's ALL MY FAULT...

"Don't you _dare_ freak out on me now," whispers Craig.

I realise I've been letting my breathing get heavier until I'm almost hyperventilating, so I force myself to stop, calm down, deep breaths. Doesn't help my heart any, but at least I'm not in danger of passing out through lack of oxygen and sleeping through any escape possibility that might arise.

Craig gives me a strained smile, nodding reassuringly. "Good," he says quietly. "They'll be back soon, so just – calm down."

"They?" My voice is barely more than a hoarse, panicked squeak. "Who's they?"

Craig glances to one side. "Just remember, they've only got you and me. It gives us a chance."

I blink, almost able to smile. Of course, they thought that Kenny was one of their staff and Christophe was nowhere in sight when the big guy showed up. Kenny's got a history of getting out of these situations unharmed... oh. Yeah. Well, maybe not _unharmed_ as such, but usually the people around him survive at least. And Ze Mole might be a sexually weird psycho, but at least he's armed, dangerous and just crazy enough to get us out of here no matter what.

Although I have no real hard evidence that he'll bother.

It's only when I hear the voices heading in our direction that I realise Craig avoided my question and I still have no idea of who _they _are.

I take in my surroundings for the first time as the voices grow louder, although I can't hear what they're actually saying. We're in a room with industrial greenish walls, more of those neon coloured chairs piled against the walls, some broken. There are a couple of tables, a dusty Christmas tree leaning drunkenly against the wall and several boxes stacked beside it, marked _Xmas Deccies._ A storeroom. My mind goes back to the moment Craig accidentally found the hidden door to the cellar. And _underground_ storeroom.

"We're _fucked_," I hiss at Craig. His eyes darken and he makes some move in my direction, stopped by his bonds. In spite of my terror, I manage a smirk. Able to swear in front of Craig without his tongue in my mouth, for the first time since we were thirteen. Cool.

The door swings open and the big guy walks in, followed by another man. I raise my eyebrow, trying to get my tired mind to place him – because I know him from somewhere. I know I do. I barely register the other four Costly workers who follow him because I'm trying hard to remember...

Oh shit, what if I can't remember because I'm brain damaged? Whoever knocked me out bounced my brain off my skull like those babies on the news and I've got Shaken Baby Syndrome and I have to spend my whole life being all brain damaged and – and stuff?

Wait, no. I'd be brain damaged now if that was the case. Oh shit, what if I'm brain damaged?

Well, if I am, too late to do anything about it right now. What was I doing? Oh yeah, trying to work out who the new guy is. He's olive skinned, darker than Ze Mole, black haired with a porn star moustache, maybe in his forties or fifties. He looks vaguely Canadian, which would make sense. And he's wearing what looks a little bit like an army uniform...

_...You are all really FUCKED now..._

I scream. I can't help it! As soon as it clicks into place where I saw him before, I'm mentally transported back to being eight years old, the Canadian-American war, the whole of La Resistance running around a fucking battlefield – and then Satan popping up outta the ground and bringing along a friend. To be totally accurate, bringing along _that guy_.

"_Saddam Hussein!"_

"Hello buddy!" Saddam shoots Craig and I a grin that manages to be both cheerful and utterly devoid of sanity. Shit, he reminds me of Cartman.

"GAH! This doesn't make any sense man! You're dead!"

Saddam nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, well, after Satan and me split, I went to Heaven and enslaved the Mormons, but God found out and got all pissy. So I came back down here. Now all I have to do is get elected Canadian Prime Minister and take over the world!"

"I knew it!" I start struggling against my bonds again. "You're gonna use the coffee to get Americans to GAH turn against Canadians, use the bad feelings to make _gnk _Canadians vote to sever ties with America, then feed some _ack _media campaign to encourage a _second_ Canadian-American war, then with America _nng _vanquished, you'll move on to Mexico and then – oh shit, use your mind-altering coffee additive in every bottle of tequila and pre-packaged taco leaving the country! GAH! You'll have half the world mind-controlled in a month!"

Saddam glances at me. "Have you been reading my diary?"

"GAH!"

He frowns. "So, you've worked out my plan. How long has the Government been onto me?"

"We're not Government," says Craig wearily. "It's just a really fucking stupid plan."

"Hey, fuck you!" Saddam yells pretty loud and Craig stiffens. Just his body. Well... considering his affliction, probably not _just_ his body. Guh-_ross_. I close my eyes and start sending up prayers to any passing deity that Saddam quits swearing right _now_.

"It's a fucking awesome plan, you assfaced pussy!"

Clearly, there were no passing deities. Or if there were, they're floating around invisibly and laughing at me. Craig makes a lunge at Saddam, eyes unfocused. He can't go anywhere though and Saddam seems to think it's an urge to fight rather than fuck.

I _really_ could have done without _that_ mental picture. Probably a good thing I'm about to die. That's the kind of image that makes a man wake up screaming in horror.

"Fuck this," says Saddam angrily, gesturing at Craig. "You, kill this guy."

I glance up at one of the four Costly workers who came in with Saddam and the big guy. Two of them I don't recognise, the third I'm pretty sure is the same guy who served us the poison coffee earlier this evening and the fourth...

The fourth is the one Saddam was addressing when he ordered Craig's execution. But I'd recognise those amused baby blues anywhere. Oh, thank _God_ no one realised he's not an employee.

"Anything you say boss." Kenny sketches off a salute at Saddam and I suddenly have doubts in my mind. What if they fed Kenny the coffee and told him he worked for Costly and he's loyal to Saddam and he really does kill Craig, then me, then goes back to the Broflovski house and they trust him and let him in and he kills all of them in some blood soaked frenzy?

The big guy produced quite the largest knife I've ever seen – it's a fucking pig-sticker – and Kenny takes it, gesturing dramatically at Craig. "You're gonna get it now, fuckface."

Craig growls, twitching like – well, like me after my ninth cup of coffee. I recognise the symptoms. He's jonesing. And Kenny must have known... which means, he's doing it on purpose. He has a plan.

"Leave him the GAH fuck alone you _gnk_ testicle-sucking cumbucket!" Oh _shit_, did I really just say that to a guy with a knife? Even if it _is _Kenny?

Kenny smirks at me as Craig starts thrashing in his seat. Oh shit, what if he unloads in his pants? That's something I never wanna have to see!

"You're next, shit-sucker," Kenny says cheerfully, walking around the back of Craig's chair and grabbing a handful of his hair, pulling his head back and exposing his neck.

"You're a..." I run out of creative insults. "You're a _cock_!"

"_You're_ a cock!"

"Cock!"

"Cock!"

"COCK!"

"COCK!"

"_COCK!"_

"_Will you two cut it out and kill me already!" _Craig sounds on the borderline of sanity, like I'd imagine he'd sound about five seconds before orgasm. GAH!! _GAH!!_ Oh _shit_, now I need brain bleach!

"Yeah, just..." Saddam trails off, looking at Kenny through narrowed eyes. My breathing hitches. Oh shit. I don't like that look at all.

"I know you, kid," says Saddam suspiciously."You were in Hell. I fucking tortured you!"

"On a rack," agrees Kenny gravely.

"And you were the kid who completely _fucked up_ my chance to take over the world?"

Craig turns his attention back to Saddam the moment he uses the F-word. Kenny doesn't seem to notice. "Yeah, that was me."

Saddam takes a step forward, reaching for his belt. Oh shit, he's got a gun, I just know it!

"I'm gonna send you right _back _there butt-fucker..."

Kenny lets go of Craig's hair and drops the knife, slicing not into the flesh of my best friends neck, but right through the ropes tying him to the chair. Immediately, Craig launches himself forward like a fucking homing missile, crashing into Saddam and knocking him flying, landing on top of him. The gun skitters from his grasp, not that Craig pays the slightest bit of attention to it.

Craig's like a crazy man. Sex-crazed that is. I've never seen him quite so – horny. Of course, he usually has the chance to act before it comes to this. He grabs Saddam's shirt and yanks, tearing it all the way down the middle before dropping his head and attacking Saddam's lips. Saddam gives some muffled, startled cry and Craig raises his head, grabbing Saddam's wrists and pinning them to the floor.

Why is it that whenever I desperately need to _gouge out my fucking eyeballs_, my hands are tied?

"Yeah, you like _that_, doncha _bitch_?"

...Memo to self: _never_ sleep with Craig.

I'm so stricken by horror at the scene in front of me that I forgot all about the four Costly workers still hanging around, until the chair flies through my line of vision. I tear my eyes away, following its path as it crashes into Kenny, sending him stumbling. A moment later, three of the workers run at him, one of them managing to catch his wrist and hold it away so that he can't use the knife that's still in his hand.

I crane my head, trying desperately to look over my shoulder and see how Kenny's doing. Dammit, he couldn't have untied me_ before_ he got mugged by three Costly workers?

Kenny's a street rat, he can fight and he isn't scared of fighting dirty. But he's outnumbered, the guy with his wrist isn't letting go and as I watch, he twists Kenny's wrist hard, his grip so tight I can see the skin whiten where his fingers dig in. Still, Kenny doesn't let go. He's swinging with his other hand, kicking out, struggling with everything he's got. Not that he'll be able to keep it up for long; the two guys not hanging on to his wrist are getting in plenty of punches.

A shadow falls over me.

I turn my head back and gulp nervously. The big guy, the one who thought he'd killed me and Craig, is standing in front of me. In one hand is Saddam's gun and he's training it right at my head.

I wonder if it's gonna hurt or if I'll be dead before I feel anything.

I go almost cross-eyed trying to look down the barrel, all the background noise – Kenny's strained grunts, the coffee guys angry words, Saddam's protests, Craig's porn-star ramblings – fade to almost nothing. I hear the click of the safety being released and it's the loudest sound in the whole room.

There's another noise, a sort of – _whong_. Like steel hitting flesh and bone. The big guy goes as cross-eyed as I am, his hands dropping to his side, the gun falling from his grip. And then he crashes straight to the floor, revealing the person stood behind him, shovel in one hand, cigarette in his mouth.

"Hey, beetch."

"_Mole!"_ I give a relieved grin, working out what must have happened – he knocked out the big guy with a swing of his shovel. I swear, I will never again insult the shovel. At this moment in time, I would happily go to bed with the shovel.

He smirks at me, flicking the cigarette aside and heading over to where Kenny is losing his battle against the coffee guys. I crane my head to try to see what's happening. Ze Mole grabs the nearest guy from behind, grabs a handful of his hair and crashes him into the nearest wall. Lights out, goodnight. Kenny takes advantage of the distraction to kick the guy holding his wrists right in the nuts. I cringe. That looked painful.

The guy goes down and Ze Mole steps casually over him, taking out the last guy with a punch to the jaw. Suddenly, the only people still fighting are Craig and Saddam. Well, Saddam's fighting.

"Get the fuck off me, you fucking psycho!"

...Guess he hasn't figured out Craig's kink yet.

Kenny chuckles. "Hey, Craig! I helped get you stranded in Peru and embezzled your hundred dollars? Wanna come kick me in the balls?"

Craig pauses, then mercifully seems to come to his senses. He flies backward like he's on a spring, scrambling away from Saddam. The Iraqi fortunately doesn't seem too interested in getting any retaliation in. He's just lying there, whimpering slightly.

"Aw... _ewww_!" Craig spits a few times, wiping his mouth furiously with the back of his hand. "Fucking _sick_ dude!"

Kenny goes over to him, offering his hand to Craig. As soon as Craig takes it, Kenny pulls him to his feet, but I notice that they don't let go once he's up and I'm sure there's no reason for them to be standing that close either.

Laughing quietly, Kenny takes a step even closer. "You're insane," he says, leaning his head forward and kissing Craig right on the lips. Craig hesitates, then wraps his arms slowly around Kenny's shoulders, returning it. And Kenny didn't even have to swear to get him to do it. I knew Craig had a thing for Kenny, I just knew it.

They break apart after several long seconds, perhaps realising that this isn't the best time or place. Kenny rests his forehead against Craig's and even from here, I can see they're both smiling widely.

"You taste like moustache wax," murmurs Kenny softly.

I'd palm my face, only I still seem to be tied to the fucking chair. It'd be nice if my so-called best friend would stop making goo-goo eyes at Kenny long enough to realise it.

Someone _has_ realised it, but it's not Craig. Ze Mole heads over to where Kenny dropped the knife and grabs it, turning and coming over to me. I grimace. Nah, if he wanted me dead, he'd have just let the big guy kill me... unless he wants to do it himself of course.

He comes up behind me, leaning down to speak directly into my ear, so close I can feel his breath on my face. He smells like soil, cigarettes and Lynx. Oh shit.

"Maybe I should leave you like zis," he says teasingly. "Come back with my camera."

"GAH!"

He laughs, sawing through the ropes at my wrists with the knife. As soon as I'm cut free, I bring my hands in front of me and start massaging the places where the rope abraded my skin. There's a shot of sheer agony across my shoulder blades as I change position and I almost fall off the damn chair onto my face. But I don't, because Christophe puts a hand on my shoulder to keep me steady. Not the hand with the knife. At least, I hope not.

"You 'ave to wait a few minutes, get ze feeling back into your muscles," he lectures, in such a way that I wonder just how many chairs he's been tied to in his lifetime. The thought makes me giggle, in a totally masculine way of course.

Christophe takes a few steps, comes further into my line of vision, giving me a curious look. I laugh harder, glancing over to see if Craig or Kenny are paying attention. They're not. This makes me even more hysterical. Romance in South Park, you gotta try it sometime. Somewhere amidst the dirty talk and the dying and the shovels and the coffee and the fucking should-be-dead dictators trying to take over the world, there's real relationship potential.

I clap my hands over my mouth, trying to stifle my chuckles. It doesn't work and by now, Craig and Kenny have realised something's amiss and are looking at me like _I'm _the crazy one of the four of us.

"Uh, you okay there Tweek?" asks Craig.

"Guys..." I look around at the unconscious workers, the gibbering Saddam, the French mercenary smoking with barely concealed amusement, the boys in front of me holding hands.

"Guys," I try again, but I'm snorting with laughter. Craig looks concerned and I think, _moustache wax_. It sends my laughter into apocalyptic levels.

"Guys," I choke out between howls of laughter. "I _hate_ my life."


	5. All Of This And Caffeine Too!

**Author Note: **As always, huge thanks to the reviewers: tazrr, RisaShootingStar, jayjabee, Unnecessarily Cryptic Fan, Notebook Chen (and thanks for the PM too, I'm glad you liked the meme, because I love doing them!), Chizzy and Moku (I'm glad you're not badly hurt, although needing two weeks off doesn't sound unserious – get well soon!).

This is the final chapter of The Costly Coffee Conspiracy. I'm so grateful for all the reviews, favourites and comments, so THANK YOU!! I had a blast writing Tweek's crazed ramblings and I'm really glad you all enjoyed it. I hope the epilogue satisfies. Much love to everyone!

**&*&*&*&***

Sometimes, I think time in South Park moves differently than it does anywhere else.

Three months ago, I broke into the local branch of a global conglomerate, Costly Coffee, along with my best friend, his boyfriend and this French guy. We captured Saddam Hussein, saved the people of our small town from becoming mindless drones doing the bidding of their masters...

And no one knows about it.

We were in an underground storeroom, where Craig and I had been taken once we were captured, but after we were freed we took stock of the situation. We had four unconscious members of staff there, one formerly dead Iraqi dictator deciding that discretion was the way to go and being all quiet, a whole load of evidence that proved Costly Coffee had been up to no good. And technically, the four of us were breaking and entering and we didn't want the notoriety of being arrested. Especially Ze Mole, who insisted that mercenaries should not make the papers.

So in the end, we tied a still-shaking Saddam to a chair (long story) and left. I had the keys for the coffee house I work at on me, so we called the cops from a pay phone and watched the action from in there. But before we left, we had put a number of helpful notes in certain places – cops in South Park aren't known for their smarts – just so they didn't overlook anything.

The cops showed up and we watched them haul the now-conscious coffee workers away in cuffs. Saddam came soon after, cursing up a blue streak. You could hear him right through the glass and for a few moments I was worried, but Kenny helped Craig with his little problem. Good thing too, if I'd had to see Craig jump Saddam all over again and this time not tied up, I might have screamed and attracted attention, then the cops would have arrested us for breaking into a coffee shop anyway, and irony makes my head hurt.

By the time the cops had taken everyone away and got down to some serious investigating, it was still dark and we were tired, we decided we'd better go back to Kyle's and tell him and Stan what had happened. Also ask what the fuck they'd been doing while we were being kidnapped and tortured, when they were supposed to be hacking the Canadian Coalition records. Which led Kenny to ask Ze Mole one very important question.

"Where were you while Craig and Tweek were being taken hostage?"

Christophe shrugged. "It was a no-smoking building. I went outside for a cigarette."

"But _gnk_, you _were_ smoking..." I started.

He grinned, putting another cigarette in his mouth. "When I saw zey were tying you both up, I decided zey 'ad no more right to a smoke-free environment."

I decided I believed him. It's the kind of thing he'd do.

When we got back to Kyle's, we climbed the tree outside to get back in. But before we could ask for entry, Kenny and Christophe took one look through the window and started laughing. Craig glanced over Kenny's shoulder and snorted. Curious, I peeked in and fell out of the tree. Or I would have done, had Christophe not caught me by the ankle. I spent a perilous few seconds staring at the hard ground beneath me and screaming before I caught my grip on another branch, scrambled down and decided I'd seen more than enough for one night. Screw _all_ those guys, I was going home.

Kyle's pubes are the same colour as his hair. I did _not_ need to know that.

The next day, my father awoke me with the exciting gossip that Costly Coffee wasn't open. Also, that there was a riot going on outside it. I was relieved – about the closure rather than the riot obviously – because he was too curious to notice my bed was full of bullet holes and it meant that we'd actually done the impossible; taken on Costly and won.

I keep waiting to be proven wrong about the winning part – guys like me never win, like bit-players in the story of someone else's life, we just get shit on a lot – but so far, we've been getting lucky. Well, sort of lucky.

Costly was closed and the rumour soon started that it was due to them poisoning people with their drinks. There was a rabble, but most people just wanted coffee – which was where my boss came in. The shop was incredibly, stupidly full that day, I got to work just in time to prevent him having a breakdown (which was already enough irony for one day). All the Costly customers were there for their fix and for a while, I thought I was going to be facing a rabble myself.

Craig and Kenny came in some time later, apparently to check on me. Craig had his headphones on, which was just as well, considering what some people were calling me for being slow, I was shaking like a leaf – have you ever tried serving scores of angry people in a hurry? Angry people who haven't had their coffee yet? So much _pressure_.

Kenny took one look at me, jumped the counter and helped me out. He has a way with people, by which I mean, he doesn't care if he pisses them off and weirdly, he can get away with saying the most dismissive things with a smile on his face and they just accept it.

"Give the kid a break, huh? He's busy." He'd say something along those lines, smile nicely and help me out and it seemed to calm everyone down far more than my screams, shakes and spills did. He got order, I made coffee, we had a system going on in no time. As soon as there was a lull in the customers, my boss offered him a job.

"Well," mused Kenny thoughtfully. "I guess I do have a bitch to look out for now, take on dates and all that stuff. Sure, why not."

He's probably lucky Craig didn't hear that.

The whole next week, our shop was busy as hell, Kenny and I worked really hard, Craig sat in a corner grinning at Ken and Costly stayed closed. By then, the papers said the entire conglomerate had gone bankrupt, something about shady political backhanders. The shop we worked at was the only one in town that had managed to avoid being taken over by Costly and obviously, we were rushed off our feet. Still are, even now.

Craig comes in quite a lot to keep us both company and he doesn't bother so much with the headphones when he does any more. If someone swears, Kenny just repeats what's been said and Craig leaps gracefully across the counter and gets him instead.

We get a lot more teenage girls in the store now, all cursing a lot. Odd coincidence that.

Anyway, the boss made money hand over fist and what with my extra hours and school and hanging with Craig and Kenny, I was tired quite a lot. I'm not a good sleeper anyway, I don't know why, so I was beginning to feel a bit spaced out. If it wasn't for the time that the other two wanted to spend alone, I might never have had a moment to myself. But one night, about three in the morning when I suddenly realised my underwear supply was low and my maths paper was due the next day, I got to thinking.

Thinking. Never a good idea. Trust me.

There had been all the stuff about the political backhanders in the papers, but no one had actually mentioned the Canadian Coalition by name. And no one had thought Saddam was mixed up in it. The reason for the last was obvious, Government cover up. They do it all the time. They don't want people knowing that they couldn't kill him for good, so they keep it quiet, make us think he's really been dead all these years. But why protect the Canadian Coalition?

I went on line and did a little research. The coalition still had the same web page up, the one that said Americans steal women and eat babies. But it had been added to. Nothing major, a new banner, new chat thread, updated news thread. Enough to tell me they weren't out of business though and that they didn't seem to have been implicated in the Costly scandal.

Then I dug up details on the guys who'd been arrested the night we did our hero bit. They were pleading innocence, out on bail, saying they'd been brainwashed into serving poisoned coffee. One of them mentioned Stockholm syndrome and I ground my teeth, twitching. That's when you identify with your kidnappers and help them and stuff, but the only evidence of it I saw was that they weren't telling the whole story. Or maybe they had done, it's hard to tell with the papers because the Government hides so much information from the public and the papers hide half of what they _are_ allowed to print because of their own agendas and secret affiliations with secret societies who run the entire world and don't want us knowing about it and all the editors are in on it and if they told the truth, it'd bring down the secret societies and the world of industry and finance and usher in some new age of non-capitalist ventures and we'd all have to eat organic food. And everyone knows organic food tastes like vomit dipped in pigshit and gives you hallucinations, because the hippies all control the organic market and they want us all pliable so they can brainwash us. Animal Farm time, people. Everyone's a capitalist, no matter how they dress it up.

No mention of Saddam. Government conspiracy.

I got pretty worried after that, but I just happened to know someone who might be able to help me out by doing a little sneaking around. I went over and spoke to him, he agreed to help me. For a price. I paid. Oh, how I paid. But I got the information I wanted and he didn't actually want any money off me, so I kept all my earnings. I'm gonna spend it all on coffee and prozac. Not that it's important, I needed the details of where Saddam might have gone. None of my usual internet contacts had any idea, although one of them did have alarming news about Zombie Goering being sighted in Nevada.

"Zere is no record of 'im 'aving been arrested," my contact told me. "Zey 'ave booked ze staff who were in ze building zat night, but zere is no mention of anyone else. We must assume 'e is at large."

"Oh no!" I pulled at my hair. "Holy shit dude! What am I gonna do?"

"You're going to take your shirt off, stand in ze 'ole and deeg, beetch. Before I lose ze light."

I began to get really nervous after that, and I didn't think I could dig enough holes to afford a full-time bodyguard, so I started looking out for any suspicious signs. Like, just to take an example at random, Saddam Hussein sneaking through my window one night and killing me. But two months went by, work was busy, life was normal and there was no sign of Saddam. I started to relax.

Until last week.

Last week, my boss called Kenny and me into the office and gleefully announced that we've made so much money since Costly closed down that he's planning to hire larger premises and possibly a couple more staff members. Kenny and I were pretty okay with that, more staff gave us more time off and more help when we did work, plus the shop was getting a bit cramped, what with the customers and the teenage girls.

The only thing was, he hadn't been making _that_ much money.

"How are you _gnk_ gonna get somewhere and renovate?" I asked nervously, visions of the poor staff being ushered into a sideline of dangerous building work and no union, all for minimum wage.

"No renovation needed, luckily," said my boss with cheer. "The Costly place is up for grabs and it's already fitted out for our needs."

Kenny's good. It only took him fifteen minutes to stop my screaming.

I guess it makes sense. I mean, I know it makes sense. A big building, already equip for the needs of a coffee house, cheap because of the bankruptcy... I guess it makes sense.

But it makes me nervous.

That same night, Craig met Kenny and me after work and I made myself scarce for a few minutes so they could be all kissy. Strange, I never really thought of either of them as the huggy type. Craig's usually so dour and Kenny's more over-friendly. I mean, if Craig didn't have his narratophilia, he'd probably never touch another person except to hit them – or so I thought. But the two of them are always affectionate, perhaps because they have to show it so openly when Craig has one of his moments. Even when there's no cursing, they're bumping hands, or leaning close. Maybe proving to the world, themselves and each other that it's not just the words that keep them together.

When I got back, I told Craig all about how the boss was renting out the old Costly building. I think he was surprised, but it's not Craig's style to react much, even when it's blatantly obvious what's going on.

"So?"

"So!" I glared at Craig. "So the Costly building will be open again, selling coffee _again_. And you're not worried?"

"It's not Costly."

I groaned, wondering how to get Craig to take me more seriously."It's _weird_. Business is good, but not _that_ good. He can't afford somewhere that big, not on the money of a small firm!"

"He has a silent partner," said Kenny unexpectedly.

I gave the blonde a Look. "Huh? You never said! Who?"

"Dunno."

"So, how do you _know_?"

"He leaves his paperwork lying around and I'm good at reading upside-down." Kenny smirked. "Someone loaned him the money to buy the new building. They split the profits fifty-fifty and the boss also gets a wage and bonuses."

And just like that, I _knew_ what was going on. It was so obvious. Saddam Hussein has got in contact with my boss, offered to lend him the money for a new building, the boss accepts because he wants his business to succeed. Saddam has control of the coffee _again_, he can get some ironic pleasure from using the same building to do it, gets everyone mind controlled under a different company name, the Canadian Coalition get new backers and never realise they're being used...

And you know what? Craig and Kenny would have given me the benefit of the doubt if I'd told them, but they wouldn't have _believed_ until it was too late. Even though I've been proven right before, they'd think it was just paranoia. And I've got them into enough trouble.

So I didn't say a word. Not to them anyway.

But this time, I wasn't going to stand idly by and wait until there were gunmen in my bedroom before I did something. Nope. I decided I was going to take a stand.

Which is what led me to right here, right now.

I couldn't do it alone, but there's one person who's frequently accused of being paranoid as often as I am. And he owes me a favour. And he likes the thought of sneaking around, hunting down bad guys.

I'm glad he does, because I don't.

Our plan – his plan really – is to sneak into my bosses office while the store is closed and search through his papers, see if we can find anything definitive linking him with Saddam, Canadians or Costly. If not, we're planning to sneak into the currently empty but soon to be my place of work Costly and see if there's any clues there.

I'm dressed in black. Black shirt. Black combats. I thought it would be less noticeable. He's in dark colours too, although browns and greens, the shovel over his shoulder gleaming occasionally in the muted light. He's giving me rope and instructions. I'm wondering if I need brain medicine.

I don't believe I'm about to do this.

I'm about to sneak into my place of work while it's closed, go through personal papers and find out if my boss is linked with a dead dictator in some evil scheme to buy a coffee house.

Even to me, it sounds insane beyond belief. And I know it's true.

"Tweek?"

I look up at him, realising I've not listened to what he's been saying for the last couple of minutes. Something about secret signals and alarms, punctuated by curses. "Huh?"

He shakes his head, a smile on his face. "You 'ave to stop worrying. We will get through zis and 'ave all ze evidence we need to bring Saddam in."

"He won't GAH _stay _in!"

"Well, _non_," he agrees. "But it's fun to 'ave a mortal enemy. Like ze Batman?"

"Batman." I start laughing slightly, amused in spite of myself. "Christophe, _gnk_, we are not Batman and Robin. You're not a millionaire and I _ack_ can't do trapeze."

Christophe grins, flicking his cigarette aside so it lands perfectly in a glass of water on his nightstand. Show-off. "A shame. I could get some good pictures of you on ze swing."

I'm not entirely sure if I'm amused by the thought, or mildly worried, or possibly even slightly aroused. Christophe answers the conundrum for me, he reaches out and catches me around the waist, pulling me toward him. I have just enough time to realise our bodies are pressed together and his muscles are hard and toned in comparison to mine, and then he leans his head forward and kisses me.

His lips are chapped. He hasn't shaved and his stubble scratches against my skin, not quite painfully. He's not gentle, taking advantage of my stunned state to slip his tongue into my mouth, his breath tasting strongly of cigarettes and faintly of coffee. His arms are around my back, his chest pressed against mine.

It's the best kiss of my life.

I reach out and grab his shoulder, feeling his skin through his shirt, the back of my hand catching the wooden handle of the shovel. As if it's just another part of him and wants in on the act of our first kiss.

He pulls away a little, keeping his lips close to mine and I wonder if he's maybe nervous, hiding it behind nonchalance. I know if I pull away, he'll sneer at me and call me names and go along with my plan anyway. And if I don't... then what?

I don't.

Instead I say the first words that come into my head. "Holy shit, Batman."

Then I cringe. Fucking _weak._

He chuckles though, not seeming phased by the small fact that I'm a total loser. "Let's get zis over with," he says, drawing further back from me, to my disappointment. "Zen, we come back 'ere with what we 'ave found out. Zen, we say fuck it and 'ave some alone time."

I blink, wondering if he means more of his damn pictures or if he means planning for taking down Saddam or if he means, y'know, some actual _alone_ time. Because I like him. I like him a lot. And I don't know what he sees in me, but it's starting to look like maybe he likes me too, as more than just a shovel model.

"No pictures?" Damn, I always have to be needy.

"No pictures," he agrees solemnly, although his eyes are amused. "Pictures are no longer enough."

Um, okay, is that romantic or kinda gross?

I follow him though, out of the house where his insane mother resides, on the streets where strange things happen, toward the shop where I may find out one of the most evil men the world has ever known is about to become my boss.

This is my life. It's weird. It's surreal. It's never easy. But you know what?

I don't hate it as much as I used to.


End file.
